


Paintbrush Kisses

by emobeamo



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Teenagers, carry on, pastel!simon, punk!baz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 08:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emobeamo/pseuds/emobeamo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz meets a pretty boy in detention who likes pastel sweaters and kissing other boys.</p><p>Baz is determined to become one of those other boys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paintbrush Kisses

“A _week,_ Baz? Really?”

 

Baz bit his bottom lip “Yeah, I know.”

 

“Honestly, I should've just learned to adjust to it by now. But really, what did you do that got you a _full week_ of detention?”

 

“It wasn't that bad,” Baz insisted, switching his phone to his other ear. “Mr. Perkins overreacted.”

 

Daphne sighed. Baz had no doubt she was holding her forehead in the palm of her hand- something she had been doing more and more of recently.

 

“Do I even want to know?” She asked.

 

Baz didn't answer, just stared down at his shoes- black doc martins with little stars. He had bought them limited edition.

 

“Basilton,” She said, her voice weary. Baz cringed- he hated it when she used his full name. “This really needs to stop- your father can't deal with the number of detentions you've been getting lately.”

 

“Why?” Baz asked. “They don't affect him.”

 

“He's worried about you.”

 

Baz scoffed. “Doubt that.”

 

“Don't be that way, Basilton.”

 

Baz sighed. “Fine, I promise to never ever get detention ever again. Happy?”

 

She sighed again. Baz couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret in his stomach.

 

“Sorry,” He said. “I really will try.”

 

“No more mouthing off at teachers.”

 

“Ok.”

 

“Really?”

 

“I'll try.” Baz knew that meant nothing. He had no impulse control when it came to his teachers.

 

Another sigh. “I guess that's better than nothing. You can take the bus home. Try to get your homework down while you're there.”

 

“I'll try.”

 

“Bye, Baz. Try not to get yourself into more trouble.”

 

“Bye, Daphne.”

 

Baz shoved his phone into the pocket of his jeans as he continued down the empty school halls. He was 5 minutes late to detention- but it didn't really matter. It never really mattered. Baz had been in detention enough times to know the basics, and one was that you didn't really have to show up until after 15 minutes had passed.

 

He glanced at his reflection in the dark windows as he passed- his hair was greasy, and had started falling in his eyes. He wore a black sweatshirt with tiny skulls dotted over it, black eyeliner- the winged type, not smudged (which was lazy, in Baz's opinion) and dark red lipstick. He snarled slightly as he passed, but broke into a smile. Despite trying to look like a scary vampire, Baz always found himself giggling like a school girl when he was alone.

 

He reached the assigned room- 203, which he'd never been in- and pushed open the door.

 

It wasn't your typical class room. There were no desks, just easels, placed in a circle around the center of the room. A row of sinks lined the back wall, with a shelf that seemed to be dedicated to nothing but paper and pads along another. Empty cans and mason jars full of paintbrushes and colored pencils filled another. The walls and floor were splattered with paint stains and stray bits of clay.

 

Baz sighed. He had been assigned art clean up.

 

He stepped into the room, throwing his back pack over one of the easel's stools, and spun around, looking for a someone to get instructions from.

 

Baz jumped when he noticed the boy sitting in the corner. He was sitting with his legs crossed, looking down at the colored pencils in front of him like he was trying to solve a hidden puzzle. His blond curls were a mess, flopping into his eyes and around his ears.

 

His head snapped up from the pencils, looking at Baz. His eyes were bright blue, a drastic contrast from his copper curls.

 

“Sorry,” He said, his mouth twitching into a smile. “Didn't mean to scare you.”

 

“I'm fine,” Baz insisted, despite the fact that he could still feel his heartbeat speed.

 

The boy stood up, dusting off his white jeans. He wore a mint green sweater that pooled around his wrists and hips. His lips seemed to naturally part, revealing his bright white teeth. Baz's eyes drifted to a mole on his chin.

 

“I'm Simon Snow,” The boy said, taking a step closer. He held his hand out over one of the easels.

 

“Baz.” Simon's hand was softer than Baz had expected- he bet he actually used moisturizer. Baz was sure his hands were cracked and callused.

 

“I like your shoes,” Simon said, nodding to Baz's feet.

 

“Oh, thanks.” Baz looked down at Simon's feet to see he was wearing doc martins as well- though his were lavender. “I… like yours too.”

 

Simon's brow furrowed ever so slightly before he turned back to the pencils. “Jeff had to step out, he'll be back later.”

 

“Jeff?”

 

“Mr. Smith, sorry. I get used to calling him by his first name.”

 

“You're… allowed to call him by his first name?”

 

“Jeff and I are pretty close,” Simon explain. “Anyways, we basically just need to wash the brushes, wipe down the seats, and, well...” Simon gestured to the pencils he was kneeling before. “Organize the pens and pencils. Honestly, I don't see why people can't just put them back by color.”

 

Baz nodded slowly, despite not knowing what Simon was talking about. “Right… I'll start on the easels then.”

 

He found the cleaner and paper towels easily enough- all the teachers kept them in their supply closets- and started wiping down the seats. Simon continued to stare down at the pencils, placing them into their color coded cans with an expert touch. When he finished, he moved onto markers.

 

“So why are you here?” Baz asked. “You don't seem like the kind of kid to get in trouble.”

Simon looked up from the markers, his brow drawn. “We're the same age.”

 

“I know.”

 

“You don't usually call someone the same age as you a kid.”

 

Baz shrugged.

 

Simon looked irked as he went back to color coding. “I'm not in trouble. I volunteer to help Jeff.”

 

“Oh,” Baz said, almost snorting. “You're one of those kids.”

 

Simon looked up again, now with a full scowl. He opened his mouth, then seemed to lose his words, and look back to his work.

 

They were quiet for another minute, until Simon spoke again.

 

“Why are you here?”

 

“I told a teacher to fuck off.”

 

“What?”

 

“He deserved it. You know Mr. Perkins?”

 

Simon nodded.

 

“He's a homophobic asshole. So I told him to fuck off. Like, under my breath and stuff. But he gave me a weeks detention anyways.”

 

“Wow,” Simon said. “That was...”

 

“Stupid?”

 

“Well, yeah, but also...” Simon shrugged. “Kinda brave. In a stupid way.”

 

Baz felt himself start to blush, and swallowed hard. “Uh, thanks.”

 

Simon looked back at the markers.

 

The hour passed. Simon was silent, nothing but the sound of the markers hitting the bottom of the cans. Baz washed brushed, the paint getting under his finger nails. He scowled down at them- he needed to repaint them anyways, his current layer of black polish chipped almost to oblivion.

 

Mr. Smith didn't come back. Baz didn't even realize the hour was up until the door was thrown open, causing him to jump, dropping the paintbrush he had been holding into the sink with a clatter.

 

The girl in the doorway didn't seem to notice. She planted her hands on her hips, and looked at simon over her purple glasses.

 

“You ready?” She asked.

 

Simon nodded, scampering up and grabbing his bag- a baby blue messenger bag- from the easel he had thrown it over. The girl looked to the other side of the room, inspecting Baz. Baz ignored her, his cheeks burning red as he scrubbed at the brush.

 

“Oh, this is Baz,” Simon said. Baz almost cringed as he turned and gave a small sarcastic wave to the girl. “Baz, this is Penelope Bunce.”

 

“Penny,” She corrected. She eyed Baz with a strange look- Baz couldn't figure out what it was. Either confusion, disgust, curiosity, or pity. Maybe all four.

 

“Do you need a ride?” She asked after a second.

 

“Huh?”

 

“A ride? Home?” She adjusted her back pack on one shoulder. “I mean, I'm Simon's ride. And if you don't live far from here, then I can drop you off.”

 

“Oh, no,” Baz said. “I'm taking the bus.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Baz nodded. “Uh, thanks for the offer, though.”

 

Penny raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest. “Alright then. Come on Simon, let's go.”

 

“Bye Baz,” Simon said. “See you tomorrow, I guess.”

 

“See you tomorrow, Simon.”

 

The door swung shut, the sound echoing through the hall. Baz finished his last brush in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> so punk!baz, is more goth!baz, but i don't care because punk!baz sounds better.
> 
> Also, working title (very working title).


End file.
